A Subtle Silence
by Callay
Summary: Sometimes, happy endings don't work. VxM, just because I feel like it.
1. Shame

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun, obviously. If I did, I wouldn't be writing these stories, now would I?  
  
  
  
"A Subtle Silence"  
  
  
  
"Don't cry, " he whispers softly. "Please. "  
  
I'm not crying. These are not tears sliding down my face, tracing cold trails of moisture behind them. These are not my eyes, focusing desperately on the floor in front of me. These are not my hands, clutching desperately at the folds of my nightgown.  
  
"Meryl... "  
  
No. Stop talking. I don't want to hear. A hand moves swiftly, covering his mouth. It couldn't possibly be mine.  
  
This can't be happening. This _isn't _happening. I am not here. I can't be here, in his room, sitting stunned on his bed. I'm not listening to that gentle voice shatter me into a million pieces.  
  
This isn't me at all.  


*****************

He's avoiding me.  
  
I don't blame him. I'm guilty of the same crime.  
  
An uncomfortable silence has developed between us, since that night. It is understandable; I shouldn't even be here right now. But for some reason, I stay.  
  
He has been troubled lately. He acts distracted, paying little attention to his surroundings. At times he begins to wander listlessly around the house. Something is wrong, very wrong, but he refuses to tell me.   
  
Perhaps I shouldn't have brought it up that night. Perhaps that is why he said the things he said.   
  
I suppose I'll never know now.  
  
We play this complex game of hide-and-seek, searching for the fine line between civility and reality.   
  
"Vash-san?"  
  
"Yes?" He turns to me, his eyes unreadable.  
  
I glance away, avoiding that intense gaze.  
  
"We...we're running low on supplies."  
  
An ungainly pause fills the air. He does not reply.  
  
"...I'll go into town today," I finish the sentence awkwardly. I look up to meet his gaze, searching for something I can't find.  
  
"Perhaps you should do that." His voice is low, his tone impersonal. His eyes pull away from mine brusquely. His stance intimates that this conversation is over.  
  
I stop, stunned. "Fine." I walk out the door, refusing to deal with him further.  
  
He's pushing me away again. Just like the times he was stalked by Legato and Knives; when he believed that anyone who accompanied him would be in danger.  
  
I can't fathom who would be after him now, though. It doesn't make any sense.  
  
Perhaps he really does want me to leave.  
  
I return later that night, arms loaded with groceries. I swiftly put everything away in its place before searching for him. He isn't in the house.  
  
Sighing gently, I take out the bread and fish, making a small sandwich. Taking along a roll of white gauze, I bring the plate of food with me as I step outside, walking towards the small shed in the back.  
  
I knock hesitantly, fearful of disturbing him. I hear him call from inside, so I push the door open. I close it quietly behind me.  
  
He sits in the middle of the room, calmly unwinding bandages from the body lying in the bed before him. With meticulous care, he takes a damp cloth and wipes the blood from the skin gently. Silently, I hand him the roll of gauze. He accepts it with a solemn nod, unwrapping it and reapplying new bandages to the wounds. His face is an unreadable mix of contrition and regret, his concentration solely upon his task.  
  
I place the food unobtrusively beside him on the small table, where he can easily find it after he has finished.  
  
I glance at him inquisitively when he looks up at me again, gesturing towards his patient. He shakes his head slowly, sighing heavily. He rests his head in his hands, weary, looking every bit of his age.   
  
No change, then.  
  
I turn to leave, as I always do, but pause when his shoulders begin to shake. I can faintly hear his quiet sobs waft through the room.  
  
I close my eyes, hoping to shut out the pain.  
  
When I open them again, I find I have drifted next to him, close enough to touch.  
  
Perhaps, in the end, it is enough.  
  
Slowly, haltingly, I circle my arms around his neck, cradling his head to my chest. My movements are faltering at best, but I try to make them comforting. The warmth of his body feels like some intangible dream. He stiffens from the contact, possibly from sheer shock. I shut my eyes again, so I won't see his face when he pushes me away.  
  
He doesn't.  
  
He hesitates for a moment, but relaxes almost familiarly against me. His arms move up to grasp the sides of my arms tightly, pulling me down so that he can bury his face into my shoulder. I can feel his damp tears soaking my shirt as I murmur soothing words just above his ears. Dazed, I kiss the top of his head tenderly, stroking his soft hair back away from his face. I rest my cheek upon his hair, tightening my embrace around him.  
  
This can't possibly be real.  
  
He pulls back for a moment, staring into my eyes searchingly. I catch my breath, unable to move under his probing gaze. Moments pass by as I am weighed by those deep green eyes. Whatever he finds, he seems to be content with the answer. He leans back to his original position, closing his eyes.  
  
"Thank you," he whispers quietly.  


*****************

I still dream of him.  
  
Sometimes, late at night, it almost seems as if I can feel him beside me, enveloping me in his warmth. Shielding me from my nightmares. Wiping away my tears.  
  
But every morning I awaken, cold and alone.  
  
It's almost crueler this way.  
  
Despite whatever may have happened in the shed, nothing has changed. I have merely prolonged my limbo-like existence, awaiting his final judgment on my fate.  
  
I know what he will decide.  
  
It's evident in the way he lingers when he speaks to me, as if imprinting my image in his mind for the last time. The way he stares absently out into the horizon in the quiet moments between. The way he avoids my gaze and touch whenever I draw too close.  
  
He's afraid to let me go, but he fears letting me stay even more.  
  
It's times like these I wish Millie were still here.   
  
I'm still not certain why she left; her only words to me were "Sempai and Vash-san don't need me here anymore. I can leave you two alone now."  
  
She smiled, as she always did, before packing her belongings and disappearing into the sunset. I hear she went back to her family.  
  
I hope she has found some happiness.  
  
It was strange at first, after she left. It truly did seem as if we were alone together. Contact with the rest of the town was limited, except for the occasional supply trip; for the most part, the others kept their distance from us -- the tall, mysterious stranger and his companion, living in a small house isolated from the rest of the town.  
  
Well...perhaps that wasn't the exact image we presented to the locals...  
  
  
  
*slap*  
  
"Ow! That hurt...."  
  
I roll my eyes as I watch him latch onto yet another pretty face. Naturally, he is shut down almost immediately.  
  
"You didn't have to be so mean...." he wails, cradling his cheek. "Hey... wait a minute..." He chases after the girl, who proceeds onward down the dusty street. She is a slight, slim-figured, dark-haired creature -- very delicate looking. Judging from the red mark on Vash's face, she is temperamental as well.  
  
I dislike her instinctively.  
  
"Vash-san," I call out authoritatively. "That's enough."  
  
He turns suddenly limpid green eyes towards me, pleading like a puppy dog. "Aw, Meryl...you never let me have any fun." But there is a hint of amusement sparkling in those eyes, as if he were playing a great joke upon the world.  
  
I glare at him, although it is without heat.  
  
"Vash-san."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
His eyes alight with eagerness, and perhaps a hint of mischevious guilt -- the kind a small boy gets when caught with his hands in the cookie jar. In the back of my mind, I wonder if he actually enjoys it when I scold him. Surely not...although at times, he will pick the exact actions to drive me straight up the wall.  
  
Sometimes I suspect that, despite myself, I enjoy this squabbling too.  
  
I answer him briefly. "Supplies."  
  
"Oh...yeah, yeah...I-- in a minute..."  
  
Sniffing the air, he sprints suddenly over to the bakery, girl and supplies completely forgotten.  
  
"Yeah! Donuts! Hey, old lady..."   
  
I sigh exasperatedly. It looks as if I'm going to get the supplies by myself again.   
  
I find him later, contentedly munching away on a donut, a paper bag full of its siblings cradled to his chest. It never fails to amaze me how much he looks like a child at play, the world his playground. He enjoys life so much.  
  
At times, I envy him.  
  
"S'good," he mumbles, his mouth full of crumbs and sugar. "You want some?" He holds out the bag to me. The smell of spiced dough reaches my senses, making me realize I haven't eaten yet.  
  
I give him a withering look, hefting the provisions filling my arms for emphasis.  
  
"Oh..." He manages to look abashed. "Sorry...I wasn't thinking."  
  
He takes a donut out of the bag, and puts in in my mouth.  
  
"There you go, " he proclaims happily. "Problem solved."  
  
I'm going to kill him. I swear, I will.  


*****************

Today. It should be today.  
  
I dress slowly, hoping to avoid the inevitable encounter in the hall. It is difficult enough already without dealing with him.  
  
I look up this morning, out the window -- away from the packed bag lying on my bed. The blue sky stretches on endlessly over a desert expanse, speaking of infinite possibilities and hope. Inside, I ache for the impossible.   
  
"You're leaving...?"  
  
That voice. Soft, gentle, and compelling.  
  
I turn, knowing as I do, that I am lost.  
  
He stands there, leaning against the doorway. He must not have been up long; his hair is still tousled from sleep, his white shirt rumpled beyond recognition. I suppress the irrational urge to smoothen out his clothes and run my hands through his hair.  
  
Even here, I am not safe. Everywhere I turn, there he is.  
  
And yet...some part of me is grateful.  
  
I put on a light smile. "I...thought it might be better if I left."  
  
I should leave here. Stop burdening him with guilt. With my presence.  
  
After all, it's for the best.  
  
It's what he wants.  
  
"You...don't have to rush," he murmurs quietly.  
  
I look away, unable to meet those gentle eyes. I smile sadly.  
  
"I think I do," I return softly.  
  
He does not reply. Instead, he stares at me intently, his eyes bleak.  
  
I shuffle nervously under his scrutiny. "Vash...what do you want?" I note idly that I have dropped the honorific; now is not the time for formality.   
  
"I don't know." His voice has dropped to a barely audible whisper. It strains slightly with undertones of frustration and distress.  
  
"You don't know." I repeat his phrase, as if saying it again would yield the answers we both have been seeking. I step closer to him without thinking, lifting up a hand to brush lightly against his cheek.  
  
He closes his eyes, staying perfectly still. It is a while before he answers. "...you're right. You should leave. Now," he whispers, his voice dropping low.  
  
I nod, not expecting anything different. Hefting my suitcase, I walk past him into the hall.  
  
His hand catches my arm, stopping me.  
  
"Wait," he murmurs again, his voice cracking.  
  
Setting down my bag, I turn somberly to face him one last time.  
  
He pulls me to him roughly, gripping my arms painfully. He leans down, his breath mingling with mine. Our noses brush past each other, our lips tantalizingly close. His eyes are filled with heartbreaking sorrow as he closes them, sending teardrops skittering down his cheek.  
  
For a moment, I want to let it continue. I want to take as much of him as I can, before he is taken away from me. I've always known forever was never an option.  
  
But I also know that if I relent, here and now, then neither of us will ever be free.  
  
I bring up my hand to cover his mouth. He stops, confused.  
  
"I don't think you want to do this," I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. I blink them back, struggling not to cry.  
  
The pure despair that falls over his face almost shatters my resolve.  
  
He draws back, not daring to look at me. He lifts a hand as if to brush back my hair, but drops it again after hesitation. He turns his back to me reluctantly.  
  
I pick up my suitcase once more, opening the door to the outside. A hot wind blows inside, desolate and searing. Taking a deep breath, I step through, never once glancing back.  
  
"Goodbye, Vash," I murmur.  
  
I do not know if he hears me.  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: This is actually the first fanfic I'd ever written, although I never revised it satisfactorily until now. It's somewhat overdone, and I felt vaguely like I was trapped in a soap opera when writing this, but I think I've refined it about as far as I can without changing the tone.  
  



	2. Regret

  
  
  
"A Subtle Silence II"  
  
  
  
"Don't cry," I whisper, hoping that it sounds comforting. "Please."  
  
She does not reply. She looks so...vulnerable, sitting on my bed, nervously playing with the folds of her nightgown. In the moonlight, she looks almost childlike with her slight build, completely innocent and untouched.  
  
She would look like an angel, were it not for the silent tears falling from her face.  
  
I regret my decision already.  
  
"Meryl..."   
  
Her small hand comes up to cover my mouth. Its softness confuses me.  
  
She turns to me, those clear gray eyes too bright from her tears. A look of infinite sadness colors her features. Time seems to halt as she gazes at me.  
  
Even in the midst of sorrow, she is breathtaking.  
  
For a moment, I think that she is going to kiss me. Despite my words earlier, I am unsure how I will react. Her hand is warm and smooth against my lips, playing havoc with my senses.  
  
I long for something I shouldn't have.  
  
I try to speak, but her hand prevents me. Giving me one long, last glance, she leaves the room, the door closing swiftly behind her.  
  
The room is empty, save for a lingering scent of lavender.  
  
I lay back down on my bed, burying my face in the pillow.  
  


*****************

  
I never wanted to hurt her.  
  
But I didn't want to chain her down, either.  
  
Whenever I look at her, I see vibrancy and life. I see kindness and determination. I see understanding and, impossibly enough, acceptance. I see everything I have ever loved about humanity, distilled into one beautiful being.  
  
She doesn't belong here. Not with me --- an ageless guardian, fated to watch over a slumbering demon for eternity.  
  
It sounds like something torn from the primeval legends of yore, brought to life with a painful clarity.  
  
I glance over at the figure lying still in the middle of the room. Other than the shallow breaths of sleep, no other signs of life grace this 'sleeping beauty.'  
  
My brother.  
  
In the past few months, he has yet to awaken. I fear he never will.  
  
And so I watch over him. To protect him. To protect others from him, if he ever regains consciousness.  
  
I begin my daily ritual, cleaning and rebandaging Knives' wounds. It's a telling sign of his condition that he hasn't healed at all since I brought him back. I try my best not to dwell upon the implications --- that the wounds I inflicted continue to linger. Unchanging, unerasable.  
  
Unforgivable.  
  
My mind ranges back to that day in the garden, with Knives and Rem. The day had been sunny and warm, the field around us full of life. It had been so beautiful, even if it wasn't real.  
  
I remember coming up to the web where the butterfly was caught, struggling to escape. We all watched, both fascinated and horrified, as the spider crept slowly towards it. The predator, inevitably stalking its prey. I stooped down to untangle the poor fluttering creature, being careful not to tear the web.  
  
In one smooth motion, Knives reached out a hand and crushed the spider.  
  
_"This is the easiest way to do it. You wanted to save the butterfly, didn't you?"_  
  
_"No! I wanted to save both of them!"_  
  
_"What are you saying? If I hadn't killed the spider, then the butterfly would be dead."_  
  
I didn't kill the spider. I just tore its legs off so that it couldn't move.  
  
_"If we keep saving all the butterflies then the spider would die from starvation."_  
  
It wasn't supposed to end this way.   
  
_"You can't save them both." _  
  
He was supposed to recover. He was supposed to see why I have to protect humans. Why I love them so much.  
  
I just know that in time, he would have come to care for them as much as I. If only...  
  
_"I won't be wrong a second time!"_  
  
My words ring hollowly in my mind, mocking me. Deep down, I know that I may as well have killed him. Now I keep my penance, patiently taking care of his body as I wait for his soul to heal. Even if it takes an eternity to do so.  
  
I could never chain her to an existence like this.  
  
I feel the tears welling up again, but she is not here to comfort me this time. I slump down in the chair, my face in my hands. I miss her sorely.  
  
I don't know if she ever realized how important she was to me.  
  
Perhaps it's better that way.  
  
The memories resurface, fresh in my mind, of times when she simply held me until I cried myself out. Of nights spent standing silently over her bed where she lay sleeping, never daring to do more than look. Of days when she seemed so beautiful in the glittering sunlight I could barely speak...and she would smile at me, immediately easing the sharp aching in my chest.   
  
She was always here to absorb my pain, even as I caused her hers.  
  
Until I sent her away.  
  
Feelings of regret sweep over me for that, but I know that it was necessary.  
  
Wasn't it?  
  
I had to send her away.  
  
I told her to leave --- that I didn't need her with me. I told her every hurtful and cruel thing that I thought could ever drive her from me.   
  
I told her I didn't love her.  
  
There is so much of my life I have to regret for...  
  
She understood what I was trying to do. Perhaps better than I understand it myself. She was the one with the strength to see it through.   
  
Despite it all, she continues to love me.  
  
I think it is that most of all that makes me feel ashamed.  
  
I walk over to the mirror hanging over the sink, forcing myself to look at the polished surface. Reflected back is the image of a young man, forever trapped at his prime. Deceptionally full of vitality and potential.  
  
I suddenly feel very old.  
  
What does she see, when she looks at me?  
  
"Vash," I murmur to my reflection, "you truly are a fool."  
  
If my brother were still awake, I am sure he would be laughing.  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: I need to stop writing angst. It puts me in a bad mood, and I can never write a story to be happy again once it's devolved into a weepy mess.  
  
Yes, that's the whole story. I don't think I'm going to be adding to it. I tried before and it didn't work at all. In this story, at least, everybody is supposed to end up miserable.  
  



End file.
